


green, pink, blue, yellow

by rowenabane



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV, WayV (Band)
Genre: Angst, Kun and Ten are Neighbors in Love, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Please read warnings!, Stalking, Suburbia, Supernatural Elements, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-15 19:03:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18675625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenabane/pseuds/rowenabane
Summary: Imagine: a town with manicured lawns, cotton candy sunrises, houses that all look the same. Imagine: a neighbor with a beautiful smile, a terrible secret, a hidden past.Imagine: a town you will never leave.Imagine: Pryhallow.





	green, pink, blue, yellow

**Author's Note:**

> hi all! this fic definitely touches on some heavy stuff like stalking and domestic abuse, so PLEASE be aware of those while reading!
> 
> hope yall enjoy!

Ten has decided to start somewhere new, and so he is moving.

Perhaps that was the hardest part, the part where he decided it was better to leave a place than stay. He has packed his entire life into boxes, labeled them in thick black marker and shoved them into the back of a moving van. He has compressed the contents of his life into a neat package that he can take from one home to the next.

Ten has done all these things, has gone through all the necessary steps of packaging one’s past and relocating somewhere where that same past will not matter. He has reached the final step of this long, arduous process. He has bought the house, he has said his goodbyes, and now he has arrived.

Ten loves the house. He really does. It’s a beautiful house, in a beautiful neighborhood, in a little town that could only be described as idyllic. Ten parks his car in the driveway of his new home and steps out, house keys dangling from his fingers. They fit into the door, painted bright yellow, and it hits Ten that this house is really his, that he’s started somewhere new.

It’s a beautiful day in Pryhallow.

Pryhallow is a little, out of the way town. It’s small and nestled inside a larger county, barely visible on a map. Ten had gotten lost at least twice on his way here, but he figures it was worth it. The sky is blue and the clouds are white cotton drifting across the sky. Ten closes his eyes and lets the warm breeze blow through his hair. It’s peaceful. He feels peace.

The neighborhood Ten has just moved into is suburbia personified. Every house is a variation of the same, each painted muted blues and yellows and pinks. It’s almost like a set from a movie, and it feels slightly surreal, but Ten has never been happier to diverge from reality.

He's still waiting for the majority of his stuff to arrive with the moving van but he has a couple of boxes in his car, so he gets busy unloading things from his car. It isn't much, but he doesn't know what else to do with himself.

"Hey! Let me help you with that!" A friendly voice comes from behind Ten and he turns to see a tall man in a polo shirt and khaki pants jogging up his driveway. The man smiles brightly at him and takes the box from his arms.

"Welcome to the neighborhood," the man says cheerfully. "I'm Johnny. I live down the street."

Ten stammers, flustered by the fact that someone is being nice to him and he has been here for less than five minutes. Now that's something you don't see in the city. "Thank you," he says, opening the door for Johnny as he carries the box inside.

"No problem," Johnny says. "That's what neighbors are for, and everyone in Pryhallow is neighbors." He's smiling again. "I'm the head of the Homeowner's Association around here, so if you need anything don't hesitate to stop by or give me a call." He takes a pen and a notepad out of his pocket and scribbles down a phone number. "You're going to love it here. Everything is fine."

"Thank you," Ten says, a little confused, taking the paper as Johnny hands it to him.

"Don't worry about it," Johnny says, grinning. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my husband is waiting for me. It was nice meeting you, Ten!" He bounds out the door and down the street.

Well, at least the people in Pryhallow are friendly.

 

…

 

The moving van arrives and Ten's new life finally starts to take shape. Furniture fills Ten's new home and he begins to really unpack, unboxing the remains of his old life and making them something else.

It's late in the afternoon when his doorbell rings. He thinks it might be Johnny again but when he opens the front door it's a man with blonde hair, a cake pan in his hands. The man, who is not much taller than Ten himself, is wearing a large cardigan and has a shy smile.

Ten likes him immediately.

"Hi, I'm Kun," he starts, voice a little quiet. "I live right next door, and I thought I'd bring this over for you." He hands Ten the cake pan, and Ten can see "HELLO" frosted on the top in messy letters. The first letter is a scribbled mix between an H and a W.

“I’m Ten,” he replies, trying to read the scribbled letters.

"Sorry if it looks a little messy," Kun says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was supposed to say "welcome" but I ran out of space and had to improvise."

Ten laughs a little as Kun's face turns red. "It's great, thank you. Would you like to come in? It looks a little messy, too."

Kun looks relieved at Ten's reaction but waves his hand. "I'd love to, but I can't. I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood, seeing as we're going to be living right next door to each other." His shy smile returns and Ten has never found a person to be so effortlessly endearing.

"I can show you around town tomorrow, though, if you're free," Kun offers. "There isn't much, but you should have someone show you around."

"I'd enjoy that," Ten says, grinning back. "Would around 10 be okay?"

Kun beams. "Of course! I'll see you then!" He turns and waves as he walks down the sidewalk and vanishes into the house next door.

The cake is surprisingly good, and Ten can't wait for tomorrow.

 

…

 

Kun comes over at 10 and proceeds to give him an exhaustive tour of the town, which can easily be traversed on foot.

“This is our local library,” Kun says, his cardigan rolled up to his elbows. “I work there.”

“That’s nice,” Ten says, gaze sweeping over the brick building that could only be described as quaint. There are quite a few people sitting outside, talking and reading. The sky is a brilliant blue and the sunlight is warm on Ten’s skin as he closes his eyes. Kun takes him inside and the library is like every small-town movie library. There are books, and people, who all smile at him as he passes.

Kun grabs a book from a shelf and Ten notices something glinting on his left ring finger. It’s a small band of gold, one that slipped Ten’s notice before.

“Are you married?” Ten asks casually. He knows the question was a mistake when Kun’s hands still, his face dropping slightly.

“I _was_ married,” Kun says. Was, past tense. There's something in Kun’s voice that tells Ten this was not a willful separation, something that speaks of bitterness.

“I’m sorry,” Ten says, stumbling over the words. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, it’s okay,” Kun says placatingly, twisting the gold band around his finger. “It’s been years since he…” Kun’s voice trails off, as if he is deep in thought. He shakes his head and smiles at Ten. “Don’t worry about it.”

Kun drags Ten through the library and past the playground, where small children are playing. Ten sees several parents, who wave at them as they pass. There’s a diner and several small shops. The entire town feels like a remnant of the past, untouched by the present. It almost makes him feel as if he is an intruder, as if he doesn’t truly belong here.

Kun waves at someone across the street that Ten recognizes as Johnny and another man, one he doesn’t know.

“Kun!” Johnny jogs over, beaming. The man with him smiles. They are both wearing matching polo shirts and khakis. “Nice to see you this morning!”

Kun dips his head in response, the gesture one of shyness more so than respect. “Nice to see you, Johnny,” he replies. “Have you met Ten yet?”

“We met yesterday,” Johnny says amiably. “So glad to have someone new in the neighborhood. Have you met Jaehyun yet?”

The man standing next to Johnny waves, then shakes Ten’s hand. He’s the charming type, the kind that probably did sports in high school and knew everyone worth knowing. He’s friendly and, just like Johnny, doesn’t run low on smiles.

“I’m Johnny’s husband,” he explains. It makes sense.

It goes on like this - Kun slowly but surely introduces him to everyone that is anyone in Pryhallow. He introduces him to the sheriff (a woman named Yi Moonbyul), the man who owns the diner (a chatty man named Kim Jungwoo), and even to the resident mailman (an energetic man named Taeil, who won’t stop shaking his hand). A life in Pryhallow is a charmed life, one where everyone knows each other and is happy to lend a helping hand. It’s so different from the life Ten knows - the city was a very different place compared to this tiny town. He doesn’t have to watch his back here. There is nothing to fear.

As they walk home, Kun gives him a hopeful look. “Would you like to hang out tomorrow, too?”

Ten is quick to agree. He watches Kun vanish into his house next door and notices the bright red flowers growing along the sidewalk. The color is like spilled paint across the grass, vivid against the ground.

Ten locks the window before he goes to sleep. Locks the doors. Old habits die hard.

He thinks he hears a scream, but he’s convinced he must be dreaming.

 

...

 

“The key to growing begonias,” Kun says, wiping his forehead with the back of his glove, “is that they need plenty of water, especially when you first plant them.”

Kun smiles up at Ten. It’s a hot day, and the sun beats down on the pavement and Ten’s skin. Kun has foregone his usual cardigan in favor of just a shirt, and Ten has to admit it's a little exhilarating to see him without three layers of clothing.

“Do you do a lot of gardening?” Ten asks. He had just come by to say hello, and maybe drop off the burned cookies he had attempted making last night to thank Kun for showing him around and being so nice.

“Oh, yes,” Kun says, almost dreamily. He pinches a flower off its stem and cradles it in his hand. “I love flowers, especially begonias. I used to grow them all the time before I moved here. I think they like this weather better.” He looks at the begonia bloom in his hand, then at Ten. “Would you like to come inside?”

Kun’s house is exactly like he is - comforting and fastidiously clean. It looks like something out of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine, while Ten’s house is a maze of cardboard boxes with vague labels. He's almost afraid to come in, afraid he might bring in some dirt or dust that will ruin the pristine image.

Kun doesn’t have such worries. He strips off his garden gloves and throws them on the couch.

“Feel free to sit anywhere you like,” Kun says cheerily. Ten reluctantly sits on the couch, clutching Kun’s cake pan, which is now filled with burnt cookies. “Would you like something to drink?”

Ten shakes his head, and he feels like a kid going to a friend’s house for the first time. Kun laughs.

“Don’t be scared. The house only looks this clean because I wanted to make a good first impression. It’s usually a mess.”

Ten seriously doubts that, but he relaxes a little. Kun brings him a glass of lemonade, and it’s so _Kun_ he smiles to himself.

“How long have you been living here?” Ten asks, watching the ice cubes swirl in his glass.

“About two years,” Kun says thoughtfully. “It was almost a miracle to find this house, and in such a nice community.” He twists the golden band around his finger absentmindedly, thinking. “Pryhallow is like a little slice of paradise,” he says wistfully, as if he has seen perfection before.

Ten smiles, unsure of what to say.

“But enough about me,” Kun says cheerfully, ever a gracious host. “Tell me about yourself.”

So Ten tells him. He’s a dancer, used to live in the big city. He had spent about a year teaching at a dance academy before moving to Pryhallow.

“I hope I can open my own dance academy someday,” Ten says. “Maybe even right here in Pryhallow.”

“Why did you move in the first place? Just for a change from the city?” Kun's voice is light, questioning.

Ten’s mind flashes back to a dark and rainy night, an open door banging in the wind. He suppresses a shiver, looking down.

“Something like that,” he replies, schooling his face into pleasant neutrality.

Kun doesn't seem to notice.

 

…

 

Ten takes the time to walk around town, by himself, in the evening. The town has the golden glow of sunset, making all the houses seem as if they were simply painted into existence.

Ten passes the playground and sees a man sitting on one of the benches. The man glares at him with dark eyes, sunlight glinting off his dark hair. He seems different than everyone else, darker, like a void that absorbs light. The man continues to stare at him.

“Hello?” Ten calls out. The man does not move.

“So you're the new arrival,” the man says, eyes piercing. He stands and his black coat flutters, hands concealed.

“Yes?”

The man sneers, throwing a glass bottle into the trash bin. “Do you like Pryhallow?”

“Of course,” Ten says, brow furrowed. “why wouldn’t I?”

The man throws his head back, making a choking sound. Only later does Ten recognize it as a laugh.

“Why wouldn’t you?” The man says, breathless. “Isn’t everything perfect in Pryhallow?” He laughs again, already turning away. “Enjoy it while you can,” the man says, voice ominous.

Ten watches him recede into the distance, a shadow against the setting sun.

 

…

 

“I want you to meet a friend of mine!” Kun says, knocking on Ten’s door the next day. “His name is Doyoung.”

Doyoung greets Ten with a wry smile, and it is very familiar. Doyoung is even wearing the same black coat he was wearing the night before. Ten frowns, then looks at Kun.

“Have you two...met?” Kun asks, confused. Doyoung smirks.

“I don’t think we have.” His hand is very cold, almost like wax. “Nice to meet you.”

His voice is curt, with a thin layer of civility that Ten thinks must be for Kun’s benefit. Ten returns the smile, and Kun beams at the both of them.

“I’ve known Doyoung ever since I moved here,” he says. “He's a really good friend of mine.”

“Nice to meet you, Doyoung,” Ten says, smiling. Two can play at this game.

Doyoung smiles back but he is a viper, and he turns to Kun to chat amiably about things that do not concern Ten - his flowers, the library, books they have read. Ten sits and listens and watches as Kun’s face transforms. Doyoung offers very little information about himself during the conversation.

When he leaves Ten looks at Kun, eyebrows raised. “He seems nice.”

Kun sighs. “He’s kind of a...black sheep in Pryhallow. He’s just a little misunderstood. He just doesn’t understand that nice places exist.”

“He seems bitter,” Ten says.

“He is.” Kun fiddles with the ring on his finger, twisting it around and around, and Ten has to tear his eyes away. He looks out the window at the setting sun, the sidewalks and manicured lawns.

The sunlight paints everything gold, and Ten is lost in the sight.

 

...

 

Johnny hosts a party at his house, a neighborhood get-together where everyone is welcome. Kun comes, of course. Doyoung does not. Johnny greets people at the door and politely inquires about how they're doing. He has a manner that puts everyone at ease, even Ten himself.

"How's everything going for you?" Johnny asks. Ten turns from where he was observing the photos on the wall and shrugs.

"Fine," he says, condensation from a glass of iced tea making his fingers numb. "Pryhallow is a great place."

Johnny sighs and smiles. "It is."

Ten looks at the photos on the wall. There are plenty of them - photos of Johnny and Jaehyun, photos of beaches and forests, photos of Pryhallow itself. But there are a series of older photos, much older, that are black and white and fading. One catches Ten's eye - a portrait of two men against a black backdrop, the image blurred by time. He moves closer and realizes that the men look very familiar. Ten turns to look at Johnny and he suddenly realizes why.

The photo, which looks to be almost a hundred years old, is of Johnny and Jaehyun.

Ten opens his mouth and closes it. Frowns. Johnny places a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"Do you like the picture?" he asks cheerfully. "It's a family relic. That's our great-grandfathers. Everyone says we look exactly like them."

Ten lets out a deep breath. It makes so much more sense than whatever he was thinking. What was he thinking? That Johnny and Jaehyun were somehow a hundred years old? He almost laughs at himself.

"It is amazing how much you look like them, " Ten says.

Johnny smiles, but there is something lurking beneath his benign expression. "Our families...we've known each other a very long time."

Ten looks at the photo again, the expression on the men's faces. He turns around with a question budding on his tongue, but the other man is already gone.

Ten thinks nothing of it.

 

…

 

Days pass. Weeks. Ten’s life revolves around Pryhallow, around the suburban houses that look like boxes on the hillside. He visits Kun at the library, talks to his other neighbors. He wants to belong and Pryhallow has simply accepted him: no questions, just answers. Doyoung seems to attach himself to Ten and Kun, follows them and is somehow always where they are. It feels to Ten as if he is watching them for something.

Ten runs into him outside Kun’s house, yelling at the ice cream truck. He throws a bottle at the back of the truck as it pulls away, the glass shattering. The driver doesn’t even seem fazed - he simply drives on. Music pours from the speakers on the truck, a jangly tune of bells, and Doyoung continues to follow the truck, yelling.

“Shut up!” He screams, coat flapping. “Shut up!”

Ten grabs his arm and pulls him back. Doyoung sneers at him, cheeks flushed. He stumbles for a second and it becomes increasingly more obvious to Ten that he is drunk out of his mind.

“Let me go,” Doyoung says curtly, words loose in his mouth. He pulls his arm away and Ten frowns.

“You should head home,” Ten says. “You’re drunk.”

“No shit,” Doyoung says, face harsh. “Leave me alone.”

“Please, let me just-”

“I said leave me alone,” Doyoung says vehemently.

He stalks away, leaving Ten confused. He turns and sees Kun watching his friend disappear down the street, arms crossed and expression sad.

 

…

 

Kun tells him that Doyoung is a habitual drunk, an angry person. He doesn’t know why he is like that, just knows that there is something that drives Doyoung apart from the rest. He isn’t a bad person, Kun says. He just makes bad decisions.

“Why are you friends with him, then?” Ten asks. Kun looks out the window and shrugs.

“He helped me through a rough time in my life. He was there for me when I first came to Pryhallow, and he’s been there ever since.”

There is silence as Kun seems to remember something he wishes he hadn’t, and he shakes his head before giving Ten a small smile.

“Do you want to take a walk with me?” he asks.

Ten shrugs. “Why not?”

 

…

 

Kun likes to walk. Says it helps him take his mind off of things, says it helps him focus. Says he needs the fresh air. Says he doesn’t like to be cooped up inside. He gives a hundred reasons why, but it seems to Ten that he just loves this town.

A child runs up to Kun and smiles, tugging at the edge of his shirt. He gives a toothy grin and Kun reaches into his back pocket to take out a quarter. He flips it over his knuckles, shakes his hand, and it vanishes. The boy looks with amazed eyes as Kun touches the tip of his ear and makes the quarter reappear. He hands it to the boy, who smiles and laughs and runs off to his parents. It is an almost rehearsed exchange, one that Ten watches with bemusement.

Ten learns that Kun is a favorite with the children. They flock to the library to hear him read, to see him perform simple magic tricks that somehow seem like miracles. They stop at his house without fear, asking for water or a cookie and Kun gleefully obliges. He lets them run through his lovingly cleaned house and pulls coins from behind their ears when they cry. It is this gentleness that Ten notices, that stands out like a glittering gem before him.

Ten even catches him feeding the neighbourhood cats, felines of every size and type. He leaves out water and food and occasionally greets them with extra treats and pats on the head.

But for all that light, there is sadness, too - Kun carries the weight of something heavy on his shoulders, a past he will not share or even speak of. There are whispers but they are too faint for Ten to make out, and he knows that beneath that softness there is someone who has had to be very, very hard. It reminds Ten of himself, in a way.

Ten still locks his doors at night.

 

…

 

The women aren’t gossipers in the sense that they are hurtful or mean. They just happen to know a little something about everyone, even when it isn’t quite the truth.

They flock in the middle of the grocery store, a small mom-and-pops institution with buzzing fluorescent lights and yellowing tile. Ten is carrying a basket in one hand and looking at cans of soup when he hears snatched whispers from the end of the aisle.

"He's such a sweetheart," Hyuna says. He recognizes her as the woman who lives farther down the street, in a house with a blush pink door. "If I wasn't married I’d be willing to take a crack at him myself."

"Shame what happened to his husband though," another woman, Sooyoung, says. Ten recognizes her from the library. She shakes her head.

Ten looks up from a can of tomato soup and frowns. "Who are you talking about?”

“Kun, of course,” Hyuna says, picking up a magazine from a rack.

“What happened to his husband?"

"Oh, you don't know?" Hyuna says. "I thought you would, since you two spend so much time together."

Ten stares at the women, lets the humming buzz of the fluorescent lights wash over him. "What happened? "

"He died," Sooyoung says, rubbing her nails on the woolen fabric of her shirt. "Real pity. I heard their relationship was almost like a fairytale." She shakes her head.

Ten feels his fingers go numb, his arm, his chest. He could have guessed it but the truth hits him like a truck.

"That's...sad," he says, fumbling for words.

"It is. I don't even know what I would do without my husband." Hyuna shudders. She turns to Sooyoung and points something out on the glossy cover of the magazine in her hand.

Ten nods numbly and the women continue to talk about inane things - the weather, coupons, _isn't this dress fantastic? I got it on sale_ \- and he simply slides away. He checks out his groceries and leaves without another word.

 

…

 

Kun smiles when he sees him, and Ten wonders how he feels. Does he ever miss his other half? Suddenly Ten feels like an intruder, as if he is trespassing on sacred ground.

"How was your trip to the store?" he asks lightly, easing a paper bag into his arms.

"I ran into Hyuna and some of the others," Ten says, placing paper bags on the counter. "They just wouldn't stop talking."

Kun nods. "They do tend to do that."

Ten doesn't say anything else, and for a second it is almost as if he can feign normalcy. The ring on Kun's finger catches the morning light, glinting in the sun.

 

…

 

Ten slowly but surely comes to the conclusion that Kun makes him happy. It shouldn’t be an earth-shattering revelation but he treats it as such, takes a moment to analyze just what exactly he is feeling. It can't be love. It can’t be.

But unfortunately, that is what it is. Love comes for Ten in fits and starts, stutters before him and he pushes it away. But even then it creeps up on him, an unstoppable force that makes itself present when Kun smiles at him, when he offers him a begonia from his garden. Ten doesn’t want to fall in love, doesn’t want that emotion to exist at all, but it seems that Pryhallow has other plans.

Kun smiles at him, rests his hands on his knee when they sit together, wraps his arms around his shoulders whenever they are together. It is as if he cannot bear to be apart from him and Ten feels that same desire curl in his stomach, warm and heavy. Kun brings him flowers and brings him sunshine in his smile and Ten has never wanted more to be at peace with himself.

But something lingers between them. A ring of gold, a feeling of being watched, pasts that cannot be broached or overcome. Ten has already fallen in love but now it is just an obstacle, another brick on his shoulder that he must carry because he is afraid that he will hurt Kun somehow, that his past will find him.

Ten dreams of doors that will not close, of windows that are always open. He dreams of faces that watch him when he is sleeping and letters that he refuses to read.

Everyone has ghosts, but his are more truth than fiction.

 

…

 

Ten has a habit of locking his doors. He has made it a ritual, circles his half-finished home and checks each door and window. Some would say there is no need for him to obsess over such a small thing, but he worries.

Some nights he locks the doors and wakes up to find them unlocked. Some nights the windows are cracked open when he is sure they were closed before. He doesn’t voice his worries to Kun, doesn't want to seem paranoid.

But there is something watching him, whether he realizes it or not.

 

…

 

Ten accompanies Kun on his evening walks more often than not.

He sees someone carrying a painting through the streets of Pryhallow. He doesn’t know who the person is, but the painting is a vivid dark green with flecks of yellow. It’s dark and deep, the color reminding him of hidden jungles and lost places. It catches his eye and won’t let go but the person continues on, lugging it through the street. It seems like such a normal experience but when the person looks at him, eyes blazing, he has no choice but to look away. The painting seems to shift in the light, colors unfolding, but when Ten blinks the illusion is gone.

Kun grabs his hand softly, and they continue walking.

 

…

 

That night, Ten dreams of a jungle of dark green vines that twist and wrap around the ground. He dreams of shifting pathways, of roots that form ladders. He cautiously steps on one and it holds his weight. Another forms in front of him, then another, pale brown roots weaving together like a lattice.

The trees part for him and he is suddenly looking through a window of branches at a clearing. There is a figure in the clearing, a darkness creeping up behind him. Ten yells, screams that there is something wrong, something dangerous, but the figure does not hear him. Ten can only watch as the blackness engulfs the figure, obscuring him from view.

Ten wakes up in a cold sweat, and realizes the figure was himself.

 

…

 

One evening Kun is working late at the library and Ten, bored, lets curiosity get the best of him.

He searches up “pryhallow” on his phone. There is only one result, a website with words that do not make sense. There is nothing else. It’s curious, and Ten can feel something whisper at the back of his mind.

He opens up the Maps app on his phone and looks there. No Pryhallow. Nothing.

He opens his email to find the contact information of the real estate agent that sold him the house. All the emails are gone, every single one of them, and Ten stares in bewilderment at his screen. There is something not quite right here.

He searches up the names of his neighbors, but those too come up blank.

Ten types _Kim Doyoung_ into the search bar and gets several Facebook profiles that are not related to the man at all. There is one Instagram account that seems to belong to him, but it is obvious it has not been used for a very long time. There are several news articles, though, that paint Doyoung in a different light: rising star sullied by scandal. Ten clicks a clip of Doyoung singing. The video is grainy and old but one thing is clear - he had a beautiful voice.

The questions in his head add up, but he cannot answer them.

Ten hesitates for a moment then types _Qian Kun_ into the search bar. Two things come up - a wedding announcement and an obituary.

The women in the store were right: Kun did have a husband, and he did die. The obituary weaves a tale of tragic loss, an accident that no one could have foreseen. There is a grainy photo of the two of them together, but Ten cannot make out the features on the other man’s face. Perhaps it is best that Ten is not able to give a face to the spectre between them.

He turns off his phone and throws it to the side.

The sun sets.

 

…

 

Ten dreams, as he usually does.

His subconscious conjures up a desert of shifting yellow sand - no water, no clouds in the sky, just endless yellow and blue. He can feel the grains shift beneath his bare feet, can feel the searing heat beating down on his bare skin. He peers up at the sky and cannot locate the sun. There is nothing but blue, a canvas sprayed with one shade of paint.

He walks and walks but goes nowhere. There is nothing but the sand and suddenly he looks down and finds that he has sunk into the ground, the sand brushing his knees. For all his wandering, he has not moved at all.

Ten wakes with a searing dryness in his throat, and he can still feel sand against his feet as he rubs his face and sits up. The heat is gone, now, and so is that mocking blue sky. He looks out the window and sees a solitary window lit next door. He can make out the shape of a solitary man behind the blinds, restless. He swallows, mouth dry.

He gets up to grab a glass of water and the house is so still, so incredibly empty that he feels as if the echoes of his footsteps belong to someone else entirely. His breaths echo, shallow in his chest and he feels parched not just physically but in some other way, some way he can’t describe. He checks his phone and it is 3:00 in the morning, yet he does not feel tired at all.

Ten thinks he feels eyes boring into the back of his skull but when he turns there is no one there. Just an empty hall.

He drags a hand over his face and feels a breeze coming from the hallway. The air conditioning isn’t on, and none of the windows were left open, so where is that wind coming from?

He walks into the hallway and sees light seeping onto the floor from the open door, side splintered where the doorknob is. He gasps and takes a step back and someone grabs him, clasps a hand over his mouth.

Ten screams like his lungs will cease to be, screams and the glass in his hand slips and shatters against the floor. Fear consumes him like an animal that cannot be satiated, eats him from the inside out as he thrashes in the arms of his assailant. His heart is a hummingbird, a drum, a crashing train against his ribs.

Glass shears into his bare foot and Ten feels the ground shift beneath him and suddenly the world is sand, everything is moving but he cannot. He elbows his attacker in the side and there is a grunt as the man lets go and Ten drops to the floor, panting. Glass cuts into his hands and he scrambles to his feet, pulse a maddening beat in his chest.

Ten races into his bedroom and slams the door shut, locking it and then shoving the dresser beneath it to keep it shut. His heart is racing and his hands are clammy but he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s left his phone in the kitchen - he can’t call anyone for help.

There is a feeling of dread that has settled in his stomach, beneath his panic and nerves. His head hurts and the only thing he can think of is the first night this happened, the reason he moved, the ghost of a memory that plagues him every day. He flings open the closet door, rushes inside, and closes it. There is no doorknob on the inside but he hopes, prays that it will stay closed.

He hears heavy footsteps in the hallway, hears the doorknob jiggle and then hears a shoving noise as the door slowly opens.

“Chittaphon,” a muffled voice calls out. “I know you’re in there.”

Ten buries himself deeper in his closet, behind his clothes and behind boxes until he can feel the wall against his back. There is the sound of grunting and shoving and creaking wood, stark against the silence of Ten’s fear. Sirens echo in the distance. The wind howls.

“You really thought you could run from me?” the voice says, and Ten can so easily picture the face behind it that he wants to throw up. Nausea hits him in a wave and he squeezes his eyes shut to block out everything, block out that voice and the memories it brings with it.

Wood splinters and heavy footsteps come into the room. Ten claps his hand over his mouth as he hears the intruder rummage through his things, walking around the room. A hand settles on the doorknob to the closet and Ten wills his heart to slow, wills himself to disappear into the darkness like a ghost. The doorknob turns.

The doorknob turns, then stops turning, and a man’s voice fills the empty space. It is uneven and unsure but undeniably familiar, and Ten’s heart skips a beat when he realizes it is Kun standing out there, all by himself.

“Leave him alone!” Kun says, voice strong. It wavers at the end but Ten can imagine his set face, balled fists. He hears a shout and there is crashing glass. Kun lets out a shriek and there is more crashing and now Ten is banging on the closet door. There is no handle on the inside - he cannot get out. He can only listen in fear, hands bleeding against the wood, as Kun yells.

A shot rings out, and then terrible silence.

A third voice joins the mix, a woman’s voice filled to the brim with authority. There is a thud and the sound of dragging, as well as numerous other voices out in the hall. Ten closes his eyes, then jumps as someone knocks on the closet door.

“Sir?” A muffled voice calls out. “Is there someone in here? This is the sheriff.”

The sheriff. Ten breathes a sigh of relief and then begins to sob. “Yes,” Ten says, voice cracking. “I’m in here.”

The door creaks open and Moonbyul peers at him, face worried. She extends a hand and he takes it, pulling himself to his feet. His foot stings and he cries out, bloody footprint dark against the floor.

“We got a call from next door,” she says, helping him stand. “Kun saw a man break open your front door.”

Kun. He stands next to the sheriff, a bruise already darkening on his face. He gives Ten a weary look, something that bridges the gap between a smile and a grimace.

“Thank you for coming,” Ten says, a little out of breath. His heart is still racing and he can see now that the doorknob has been splintered off, drawers flung open. He suddenly feels unclean, as if the intruder has seen something secret.

“That’s our job, sir,” Moonbyul says, badge glittering against her navy shirt. There is blood splattered on her face, dark against her skin. “We’ll take care of it from here. Have a good night.”

She stalks out into the hallway and waves at another officer, Wheein, who heads out into the patrol vehicle. Ten’s stalker is sitting in the back, head bowed and unnaturally still, and Ten suppresses a shiver. The car drives off, flashing lights no longer on, and Ten allows himself a moment to stand very, very still.

There is blood on the floor. He mindlessly wonders how he will clean it out of the wood.

 

...

 

Kun follows him out into the hall, feet unsteady.

Ten picks his way past his broken bedroom door and opens the front door, which is covered with scratches. Kun stands behind him on the doorstep, wringing his hands together.

“Ten,” he says, voice quiet, “I called the police as soon as I saw him -I’m so sorry this happened - are you alright?” His words run together and Ten pulls him into his arms. Kun gives a soft, surprised noise, muffled by Ten’s shirt, but hugs him back anyway.

“Thank you,” Ten whispers, over and over again. “Thank you.”

“I just want you to be safe,” Kun murmurs.

“I don’t know what he might have done if- if-” His voice clogs in his throat and he feels a tear run down his cheek, hot and wet.

Kun makes a shushing noise, rubbing Ten’s back. “You’re okay now. I’m here.”

And Ten thinks it might be true, but he’s still shaking and still can’t stop the way his heart beats in his chest, a tell-tale heart to rival any other.

“I don’t want to be in this house right now,” he says softly.

“Then come to mine,” Kun replies. He grabs his hand and leads him outside. Ten pulls the door shut behind them and even though it is less than a minute walk to Kun’s house it feels as if he’s traveled an eternity.

“You need to rest,” Kun says softly, “Please, you’re still shaking.”

“Don’t leave me,” Ten says, voice trembling. It is as if all his emotions are crashing down on him at once like an ocean wave.

Kun nods, and doesn’t leave him. Instead, they lay down together on the couch, Kun’s hands in his hair, the following sleep black and dreamless.

 

...

 

Johnny comes over the next day and takes a look at Ten’s splintered doors. He shakes his head and puts his hands on his hips.

“It’s a shame that this had to happen to you,” he says sympathetically. “Things like this almost never happen in Pryhallow.”

Ten nods slowly and watches as Johnny gingerly brushes the broken wood.

 _Yes,_ he thinks. _It’s a shame._

 

…

 

“I changed my name,” Ten says. “I changed my name and ran away but he still found me.”

Kun watches as Ten’s fingers wrap around the mug of tea in front of him, eyes blank. He refuses to go back into the house until all the traces are gone, until Johnny has fixed the doors and made it safe again. He feels a phantom with him, a ghost of a different kind, and wants to melt into the ground. He wants the sand from his dream to not trap him but bury him completely, block him from view.

The memory comes back in flashes, a mirror image of one much closer.

“I could feel him following me, watching me all the time. I was terrified,” Ten whispers, wrapping his arms around his waist. “He broke into my apartment one night and I locked myself in the closet until the police came but I knew he was there for me, knew he would hurt me.” Ten goes silent for a moment, and he realizes he is shivering. “Sometimes I still dream about it, that night. It's why I moved to Pryhallow - to run away.”

Pryhallow. A little town in the middle of nowhere. A place where no one would find him, a place where people run away to lose themselves forever. Ten wanted a new life and he got it, at the price of leaving his true self behind.

Kun watches him silently, purple-black mark on his cheek where he has taken a fist for his friend, and says nothing.

Memories are like mirrors: they reflect us.

 

…

 

Ten spends the next few days at Kun’s house while his doors are replaced. He spends that time wrapped up in Kun’s presence, spends it pushing bad memories out of his mind. He helps Kun water his begonias and does a hundred other inane tasks that keep his mind off of his bad dreams, that sense of foreboding that follows him like a thundercloud.

Kun sends him out to grab a few groceries and as he comes back he passes the playground. It is the afternoon and school has ended, so the playsets and swings are filled with children, their parents sitting idly by on benches. Their shouts and raucous laughter fill the air like a swelling bubble, ready to burst.

As he walks past a single child stops playing to look at him, knees dirty.

The child stares at Ten as he walks past the playground, all chubby cheeks and colorful clothes but the look in his eyes is a foreign one, alien on someone so young. The child stares at Ten and his footsteps slow as he realizes that the other children are also watching, suspended on the swings and sitting on the tops of slides. They all share that frightening expression, all of them unnervingly quiet and still.

Ten keeps walking and the children's silence follows him, eyes like spotlights in his back. He feels a tingle down his spine and tries to explain it away as the eccentricities of children, but something tells him it is something much worse.

He leaves the groceries with Kun and goes home. The yellow door swings open, a welcoming sight for his weary eyes. The chipped wood and scratches are gone, and everything has been carefully replaced. He feels that this should be safe, that he should be safe now, but there is a nagging feeling that follows him like a young child’s lifeless eyes. Ten resists the urge to run away, knows that he cannot run forever.

Kun texts him, asks him about his day, and Ten smiles. This is his reason for staying.

This is why he does not run.

 

…

 

They are closer, after that. There is an unspoken agreement between them that this will be their tragedy, their secret. Ten’s house is silent and hallowed and so he goes to Kun, with the blond hair and begonias and brilliant smile.

He still wonders about Kun’s ring, about the sadness that sometimes tinges his voice. He tells himself it is not right to pry, to try to glean secrets.

Doyoung stops by, frowns at the bruise on Kun’s cheek and glares at Ten. He has less the appearance of a friend and more of an enemy, one that Ten should avoid. He talks to Kun in quiet tones but does not reserve the same kindness for Ten. He seems wary.

Of what, Ten does not know.

 

…

 

A phantom follows Ten, one that is not human or real.

Moonbyul assures him that his stalker has been locked away for life. She says that the people of Pryhallow do not take such matters lightly. She says the people do not of Pryhallow do not like strangers.

Ten tries to chase away his ghosts, but they always come back.

The sun sets and the ice cream truck circles the streets. Things change, but not enough.

 

...

 

One night Kun invites them both to dinner and Doyoung brings a dark bottle of something that Kun disapproves of. Halfway through the meal he begins to slur and Kun decides that maybe it is best he gets home before it gets too late. Doyoung doesn’t live too far away, just at the other end of the avenue, and Pryhallow is a safe place, so he isn’t too worried.

But still doubt lingers, and Ten can see it.

“I’ll head home too,” Ten says. “It’s a little late for me.”

“It’s dark out,” Kun says worriedly. “Be careful.”

“It’s less than a minute away,” Doyoung says cheerfully, cheeks red. “I’ll go with him and keep him safe.” He slings a friendly arm over Ten’s shoulder, words slurred a little.

Kun gives an exasperated noise, but not in malice. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Ten walks to his house next door and Doyoung talks about absolutely nothing, voice high and lilting. Ten actually has to keep him upright, arm around his waist.

“Thanks,” Ten says when they arrive at his door. “But really, you aren’t in any condition to be walking home alone.”

Doyoung laughs and follows him inside as the door closes, and Ten is prepared to offer him at least the couch to sleep on when Doyoung’s face hardens. His eyes narrow and the flush on his cheeks seems to just vanish, as if it is a different person he has allowed into his home.

“Listen to me,” Doyoung says, voice low. “This place isn’t safe for you.” His face has changed into something unreadable and harsh, and in the back of his mind Ten wonders what has possessed him.

Ten laughs awkwardly, stepping back. “You’re really drunk. You should probably go hom-”

Doyoung has a frightening intensity in his eyes. Ten takes a step back but Doyoung grabs his sleeve, leaning in closer.

“You need to get out of here,” he hisses, eyes manic.

“I don’t understand-”

“Listen to me,” Doyoung says, voice a furious whisper. “You get out of here. Kun is going to try to get you to stay because he loves this place and he loves you but you do not listen to him. Take him with you. Run until you cannot run anymore, run until you collapse, just get out of here.”

Doyoung is not drunk. He is not sick. He is _scared_ , and Ten can see that in his eyes, unbearably honest.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers, drawing his arm back. “Why-”

Doyoung has a fury unmatched by anything on this Earth. He grabs Ten by the collar, pushes his face close enough that Ten can see himself reflected in his eyes.

“Nothing bad ever happens in Pryhallow,” Doyoung says, voice high and delirious. “No one ever dies in Pryhallow, no one ever gets hurt in Pryhallow-”

“The nearest hospital is in the next county, of course no one dies here, technically-”

“-no crime is ever committed in Pryhallow, everything is _fine_ in Pryhallow,” Doyoung says, almost gasping for air. “Don’t you see? Everything is too perfect.”

“Maybe you’re just bitter,” Ten says, anger creeping into his voice.

“Do you know any of these people, really? How old are they? Where did they come from? I’ve lived here five years and none of these people have changed. Kun and I, we are the only ones left. And you,” he says quietly, trailing off. He steps back, eyes wide, looking stricken. “Take him away from here, Ten,” Doyoung says, eyes red. “He is my only friend.”

Ten stares and opens his mouth but Doyoung turns away, slamming the door open and disappearing down the street.

Ten sits on the couch, numb. Doyoung has lost his mind, has absolutely lost his mind. Should he call the police? Call Kun?

He does none of those things. Instead, he locks the door.

Sleep is hard to find.

 

…

 

The next morning is a sunshine day, just like every other day in Pryhallow. The sun beams her gentle rays upon Ten and Kun as they sit on his porch, chatting and watching kids run carelessly in the empty street. It takes Ten a moment to recognize the figure walking up the walkway, his usual black attire replaced with a colorful button up shirt.

“Kun! Ten!” Doyoung calls out, smiling. He waves, and the happy expression on his face is a foreign one. “Nice to see you!”

Confusion hits Ten in a cascading wave and he frowns but waves back. The sun is relentless and he wonders if Doyoung’s smile has ever been that wide, or if it is just some trick of the light. It must be - men don’t change overnight.

“How are you today?” he asks, smiling, and even Kun seems taken aback by his manner.

“Good,” Kun replies slowly. Doyoung smiles again, eyes creasing up at the corners, and continues on about the weather. He is unbelievably outgoing today, as if someone simply replaced his personality overnight. A quick rewiring, and suddenly Doyoung is brand new.

Kun calls him on the phone later, voice worried. “Have you talked to Doyoung recently? He seemed a bit...different, today.”

There is a beat of silence, heavy like a stone between them.

“No,” Ten lies. “I haven’t.”

 

…

 

Ten invites Kun over to his house for what he says is just a casual dinner and a movie.  Of course, nothing is casual when it comes to Ten’s heart.

He and Kun have been on several “dates,” spend almost all their time together, but this somehow feels different. He’s just a little nervous, feels a fluttering just below his ribcage. Kun arrives in his best sweater and jeans, his soft smile a sight to rival any art on this earth.

They eat dinner together, and Kun laughs when Ten apologizes for things being a little burnt. They talk and suddenly everything comes easier, everything seems somewhat brighter. Ten wants to be happy and maybe this is it, maybe the ghosts that haunt him have already dissipated. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the window, just a half-image of the side of his face blurred by the haze of the glass and Ten wonders if he will ever look this way again.

It’s not vanity that makes him ask this question. He is not caught up in his appearance but rather in the sight of himself somewhere he had ever expected to be. He wonders if he will ever be this content again, if maybe his smile reversed in the window glass is a trick of the light, a warp of the pane.

Ten wonders if he will ever be happy like this again.

This is a thing Ten desires: to find peace.

 

…

 

Later, as they are sitting on Ten’s couch watching some old science fiction movie, Kun turns to look at him. He opens his mouth, takes a deep breath. The blue light from the TV screen reflects across his features, casting them in an almost ethereal blue light.

Ten watches as Kun gently touches his hand and he looks so vulnerable in this light, eyes open and aching.

“May I… may I kiss you?” he asks, voice like a whisper in the wind. Ten can only stare because his mouth has failed him. He nods, eyes wide, and Kun smiles. He grabs the front of Ten's shirt and kisses him, mouth open, the action sloppy and unpracticed. There is a gracelessness to it, a kind of unhinged feeling, as if Kun is not used to being so bold.

"Is that okay?" he asks cautiously as he pulls away, and Ten can only stare at Kun's disheveled hair, his flushed cheeks, his shy, glittering eyes. This is what love is - not obsession, not sharp edges and fear.

Ten pulls him close, threads his hands in that soft blond hair and kisses Kun's forehead, the tip of his nose, squeezes him in his arms. Kun lets out a breathless laugh as they kiss again, and Ten is overwhelmed by a different emotion in his heart. This is what love is, he realizes - happiness.

Kun smiles against his lips, skin warm and eyes fluttering shut and Ten watches the TV light flicker across his skin, the screen red and orange and pink. He wants to live in this moment, wants this small happiness to never end.

This is what love is: never wanting to leave.

 

...

 

That night he and Kun sleep together, limbs tangled in the sheets. There is a comfortable silence between them, a peace, and as Ten rests his head against Kun’s chest he feels as if his life has come full circle. Maybe this is where he is supposed to be, maybe this is what he has been looking for all his life.

Kun sleepily murmurs something into his hair, and Ten thinks that maybe his smile could rival the sun. Rival the stars.

In this moment, Ten feels content.

 

...

 

There is water.

That is the first thing he notices. There is water pooling at his ankles, clear and cool and he cannot see the floor. He’s in some type of room, the walls eerie polished black glass, so sharp he can see his reflection in them. There are no doors, no windows, there is no ceiling. It is just him and the black walls and the water, which flows as if it once was part of a river and has just lost its way.

He takes a few tentative steps and feels something smooth like tile beneath his feet. He makes his way to the wall and places his palm flat against it, fingers splayed out against the smooth black. His reflection stares at him, unblinking.

He moves back from his reflection, slowly, water pooling around his feet and his reflection steps toward him. It places a foot in the water, extends a hand as it moves through the glass and even though it is him it is somehow wrong, somehow off. It steps forward. It is silent.

Ten’s reflection places a hand on his shoulder and blinks but when it opens its eyes they are completely black. Black as the polished glass walls, black as the night, black as sin and starlight and Ten screams. His voice rips from him as his reflection, this not-him, places its hands around his neck and squeezes until his vision goes dark. Panic courses through his veins but underneath that is a whisper, a current or a voice, calling his name.

 _Ten_ , it says, ethereal. _Ten_.

The dream jolts Ten awake, heart racing. He sits up and rubs his face, skin crawling with the remnants of what must have been a nightmare. It’s fading, now - Ten can remember very little, just darkness and a sense of… displacement.

Kun stirs beside him, still asleep, his hair falling across his face. His hand is wrapped around Ten’s as if he is afraid to let go. There’s something about the sight that anchors him, holds him in this world and lets everything else slip away.

Ten takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He can’t even remember the dream now - it's dissipated like fog in the night. His window is open and the curtains flutter in the breeze, air whispering around the room.

He doesn’t realize it then, but the window was not open when he went to sleep.

 

...

 

The more time Ten spends with Kun, the more he realizes that he, too, has secrets.

It is the strangest things that make him tense up, make his eyes go wide and limbs go stiff. A slamming door. A shattering glass. A fire alarm. Kun will go very still for a moment and then suddenly shake out of whatever memory he had been reliving. Ten wants to know what haunts him, wants to help, but he knows things like this cannot be easily talked about.

Kun still wears his ring. Still wears at it mindlessly, still rubs it like he is waiting for a genie to appear from the gold. Ten doesn’t understand, thinks that he may never understand, but still hopes.

 

…

 

One night, as they are sitting together on Kun’s couch, he decides to broach the subject.

“The women at the store,” he starts. “They told me you used to have a husband.”

Kun toys with the ring on his finger and Ten watches him, hand propped against his head. He doesn’t answer right away, avoids Ten’s gaze. There is something guarded in his expression, something that Ten has never seen before. Not on Kun.

“I was married, yes,” Kun says slowly, fingers red from where he is wringing his hands together. He seems anxious, on edge, as if he is scared to speak.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Ten says. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“You should know,” Kun says. His voice is shaking and his eyes are squeezed shut as if he is afraid of something that has already happened.

Ten waits. Watches. Listens.

“Sometimes, I think I hear his voice,” Kun whispers, voice a horrified hush against the lamplight. He twists the gold band around his finger, twisting it until the skin is red. He stills. “I thought he loved me, but I guess we just believe what we want to believe, even if it isn’t true.”

Ten aches. Kun looks at his feet and shivers, as if he is cold. “It's been three years since he died. He was awful, Ten. He was a nightmare with skin. I realize that now.”

Kun speaks to Ten as if Ten isn’t even there. His voice has the quietude of trauma, of shock.

“Before we got married, he was the kindest person I had ever met. He was so sweet and thoughtful and he asked me to marry him, so I did.” Kun shakes his head, twisting the gold band around his finger. “I should have realized it sooner, that he was no good. Sometimes he was mean to people for no reason. I always reasoned it away, thinking he’d had a bad day. I didn’t think he would turn on me.”

Ten places a hand on his. Kun’s finger is rubbed raw from where the golden band has repeatedly scraped against his skin.

“The first time he hit me, it was the day after our wedding.”

Kun is silent, looking at Ten, and there is a remnant of horror there, one that cannot be expressed through words. Ten has never wanted to hurt someone he didn’t know, dead or alive, but now the anger that fills him is justified. His mind conjures up a photo of a man without a face, a spectre better off dead.

“I didn’t mean for him to die,” Kun says quietly. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Ten stares, mouth open. The silence between them is a cobweb that is already falling apart.

“The official report is that he broke his neck, dead from a fall. I didn’t mean it - it was an accident.”

Ten can only watch as Kun buries his face in his hands, skin pale, fingers red.

“I pushed him,” Kun whispers, voice broken and soft. “I pushed him and he fell down the stairs.”

Ten looks at him and silence stretches a mile between them, an infinity between them.

“I ran,” Kun says. “Everyone thought it was an accident but I knew, I knew I had killed him. I moved here to run away.” Kun is sobbing now, and Ten goes to him, kneels by the couch. Places a hand on his.

“I wasn’t even sad he died,” Kun says emptily. “I was...glad. I was just scared of being caught. Of being haunted. I sometimes… sometimes I feel that everything was my fault.”

“None of that was your fault,” Ten says softly. “None of that was ever your fault.”

“But what if it was,” Kun says sadly. “What if I made him mean? What if I-”

“Some people are just cruel to be cruel,” Ten says bitterly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

They stare at each other in the lamplight, and Ten sees Kun slip the ring off his finger. He stares at it, the dull glint of the metal a harmless thing in his hand. He holds it up to the light, then thrusts it towards Ten.

“Take it,” he says bitterly. “I never want to see it again.”

Ten accepts it with clumsy fingers and slips it in his pocket. He kisses Kun once, on the cheek.

“Good night,” he says quietly.

Kun smiles weakly at him, eyes red. “Good night, Ten.”

The night is an eternity between them.

 

…

 

It is only later, as Ten is lying in bed, that he looks at the ring. It’s scratched and dirty, but it still has a loving shine rubbed into it.

He throws it into his nightstand drawer and goes to sleep. He doesn’t dream.

 

…

 

Ten visits the library one morning and wanders between the shelves. Kun is busy but spares him a smile as he passes by with a cart full of books.

The library has a sunny hush, the smell of paper and coffee permeating the air. Ten must admit he's not much of a reader, but he can see why Kun loves it so much. there is something comforting about the silence, something still and safe. He walks through the shelves, running his fingers over the spines of well-loved books.

There is a girl sitting between the shelves, legs crossed, a notebook open on her lap. She is writing furiously, hair obscuring her face, silent except for the scratch of pen on paper. He gets closer and realizes that she is writing the same sentence over and over again, pen almost tearing into the paper. There is an urgency in her actions, a fervor, and Ten feels his skin crawl. He waves a hand in front of her face, but she doesn't even blink.

He hears the creaking wheels of a cart and half turns, expecting to see Kun. It is only Sooyoung, looking at him curiously.

"Is everything all right?" She asks mildly. Ten opens his mouth to say something, maybe suggest that there is something wrong with the girl, but he is interrupted. Her head snaps up, eyes wide. She is smiling.

"Yes," she says, teeth white and voice raspy. "Everything is fine."

 

…

 

Ten is beginning to see, for the first time, the strange currents of Pryhallow. He carries his own fear and Kun’s misplaced guilt and the weight of these things opens his eyes to something that was right in front of him.

Ten thinks of his dreams, dreams that now seem like omens of warning. He takes a deep breath and stares up at his bedroom ceiling, looks at the clock. It is 2:00 in the morning, and sleep has never seemed farther away.

He counts the ticks of the clock, counts the stars outside his window. He thinks he hears a scream, and he isn’t sure if he has fallen asleep or if it is real.

He can no longer tell what is reality or imagination.

 

…

 

Ten loves Kun. Cherishes him more than any gold or jewel, revolves around his smile. Love has found Ten, and in spite of everything it keeps his heart beating, his lungs breathing. Ten would not trade anything for this happiness, not his life nor the world.

Ten teaches Kun how to dance, guides him through the steps of a ballroom waltz. He laughs when Kun fumbles with steps, and Kun playfully kisses him on the cheek. They spend evenings curled up together on the couch, Kun’s hands in his hair. When the sun rises, it is always hard to part.

This is a good thing in Ten’s life, and perhaps that is all he ever needed - one good thing.

But, like all good things, this too must pass.

 

...

 

Doyoung stops by, smiling. He doesn't even look like the same man. There is something alien in his eyes, something that Ten thinks he has seen before.

He watches from the window as Kun and Doyoung talk, Doyoung cradling a flower in his hand. In one deft motion he plucks it out of the ground, still smiling. Kun frowns. Ten cannot make out the words through the glass but there is something tense in the exchange, something off in Kun’s set face and Doyoung’s sunny grin. Ten can't quite put his finger on it, but he watches silently as Doyoung crushes Kun's begonia between his pale fingers.

The petals fall to the ground like flecks of blood and Kun crosses his arms, says something quick and curt and almost unkind. Doyoung simply shrugs. Ten watches them and feels his stomach coil. He feels the prickling sensation of being watched, one he has become accustomed to.

He draws the curtain shut as Doyoung walks away, grinning at Ten’s window.

This is what Ten’s dreams have become: nightmares.

 

…

 

A day passes. Kun doesn’t talk to him for a day. He withdraws into his lovely home, behind that baby blue door and does not speak, at least does not speak with meaning. Ten texts him, asking if he’s fine, if he needs something. Kun replies with a simple no, and Ten doesn’t hear from him again. He isn’t quite sure what question he intended to answer. Maybe both.

Johnny stops by, says he is just checking in. Says he hopes everything is going well. Says he wonders how he’s been. His eyes seem to peer through Ten. He seems to know too much.

An anxious feeling settles under his skin, something that feels a bit like he is losing control. He isn’t quite sure what it is but it sits on his chest with the weight of a hundred bricks. He feels like the Wicked Witch of the West, crushed by a house.

24 hours pass. Just 24. But it feels like a lifetime, like Ten is waiting for a disaster to strike.

This is what Ten’s home has become: not a home at all.

 

…

 

That evening, Ten receives an urgent text message from Kun. _Come over_ , it reads. _I need to talk to you_.

The sun is already setting as Ten walks next door. The begonias look lovely in the dying light, their red somehow more vivid as the sky darkens. Ten knocks on the door and it swings open, revealing Kun’s drawn face.

The first thing Ten notices is that the skin on Kun’s hands has been rubbed raw, the tips of his fingers red. He wrings his hands repeatedly as Ten watches, and he has to reach out to stop him from wearing the skin so much it bleeds.

“What’s wrong?” Ten asks, cupping Kun’s face with his hand. Kun shakes his head and looks out the window as if searching for someone, as if looking for an unfamiliar face. The sun has set and there remain only the faintest trails of red in the sky. It is almost as if time has passed quicker than normal. There is a discrepancy here, a bending of minutes.

Kun’s hands are shaking as he draws the blinds shut, the tableside lamp casting a sickly yellow glow over his pale features. He exchanges a fearful glance with Ten, who watches him as he paces.

“Do you ever feel,” Kun starts, “as if something is wrong here?”

Ten stills. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Doyoung’s manic eyes fill his vision, the incessant tinkling music of the ice cream truck. The stillness of the children.

“What do you mean?” Ten asks, voice a hush.

“I don’t know,” Kun replies, wrapping his arms protectively around himself. His hands are lost in the longs sleeves of his sweater, his skin pale against the soft beige material. “Lately I’ve just been getting this feeling...the feeling that something isn’t right.”

Ten knows what he means. Knows, but does not want to acknowledge it. He knew it that night with Doyoung, knew it when he realized people weren’t as honest as they seemed, knew it when the children went silent in the streets.

There is something wrong in Pryhallow.

They don’t speak for a moment and Kun shakes his head, twists his hands together.

“I’m being silly,” he says softly, “I’m being foolish.”

The sun is setting outside the windows and too soon it is dark, the night unfathomable outside the walls. Who knows what lurks out there? Who could possibly know?

Ten stands and draws Kun into his arms, buries his face in his shoulder. Kun’s breathing is shallow and afraid and Ten can feel his fear, can feel that something has changed. Changed for the worst.

“You're right,” Ten says. “There is something wrong. Doyoung-” Ten takes a deep breath. “Doyoung told me to leave. Told me to take you with me. Said there was something wrong with Pryhallow. I didn’t believe him then, but now…” The thought drifts out into the open air almost tangible before him, and Kun catches it effortlessly.

“This town changed him,” he murmurs. “This town _changed_ him.”

Ten can only watch as Kun’s eyes widen, mouth opening. “That’s why he’s so different now,” Kun says, stepping back, hand over his mouth. “It _took_ him.”

Ten doesn’t argue, just stands there and he can see the gears turning in Kun’s mind, can feel his own heartbeat threatening to shake the foundations of his body like an earthquake. What Kun says is true, somehow - it shouldn’t make sense, but it does.

“We have to leave,” Kun says. “We have to.”

“Tomorrow.” Ten grabs Kun’s hand in his. “We’ll leave tomorrow. Go somewhere else.”

Kun’s eyes are so sad, so unbearably despondent that Ten wonders if this is the right decision, if perhaps he has made some incalculable error. He watches Kun’s eyes sweep over the inside of his home, the home he made for himself, and wonders if maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay.

They have spent so much time running, but they cannot run forever.

But then Kun nods, clenches his fists and wrings his hands together. “Tomorrow.”

A look of understanding passes between them and Kun leans forward to kiss him, long and slow. Ten can taste his despair, can feel the ground open up beneath him and is afraid it will swallow them both. He cannot bear to leave Kun, even for a night, but there is some unspoken thing between them that urges him to leave.

They pull apart slowly and Kun brushes hair away from Ten’s forehead, eyes glimmering as if they will never see each other again. Tomorrow feels as if it is years away, and Ten is afraid of the sunrise.

He walks home in the dark, the moon watching him like a lone eye in the socket of the sky.

 

…

 

Here is a thing Ten does while they are apart: he dreams.

In this dream, Ten is a statue in a white marble world. Sculptures stand on pedestals and even though he is breathing, he does not feel alive. There is something wrong with his chest, something wrong with his lungs. Breathing feels like swallowing cement, air doesn’t come as freely as it used to. His hands are pale white, smooth and shiny, veins made of dark stone.

He cannot move. He cannot turn his head, and shapes move in and out of his peripheral vision. His eyes will not focus. His eyes will not close.

This is his greatest fear: not being able to escape.

 

...

 

Ten wakes up early, throwing some clothes and food in a backpack before heading over to Kun’s house. The sun is just beginning to creep over the trees, the dawn as red as cherries, as begonias, as blood.

Ten knocks once on Kun’s blue door. Knocks twice. There is no answer.

Ten frowns and tries the doorknob. The door swings open easily without even a creak.

“Kun?” Ten calls out, voice echoing off the walls. Nothing seems to be out of place. Morning light streams through the windows, painting the neutral walls red and orange and pink.

He sees Kun sitting at the kitchen counter. That isn't strange, but the vacant look in his eyes is. He is rubbing at the empty space on his finger, where a ring might have rested before.

Ten frowns. “Are you okay?”

Kun is silent for a moment, then smiles at him. “Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?” His smile seems artificial, like it was plastered on and his eyes have a gleam that Ten has never seen. There is a glassiness to him, as if he might shatter if he moves too much.

Ten takes a step back, then another. When he speaks again, there’s something like fear in his voice. “Kun?”

“Everything is fine,” Kun says, still smiling. He looks the same, the same face and cardigan and blond hair but the smile corrupts all that. It’s off, and it's wrong and Ten feels something like desperation work its way between his teeth. Kun stands, hand resting on the table, and faces him. “Don’t you think so?”

Ten’s breath hitches in his throat and he runs out the door.

The red sunrise mocks him, shines cross the pavement and paints everything in that golden glow that Ten can no longer associate with safety. The houses have eyes, doors open and close like gaping mouths and Ten has been trapped in Pryhallow for so long that he is terrified it won’t let him leave.

Ten is afraid his car won’t start but it does, thank god it does. He pulls out of his driveway but it seems the entire town is standing in the street, staring at him. They are all smiling, and the expression has a cartoon garishness that makes it hard to look at. Ten is breathing heavily as he zooms down the street. Johnny peers at him through the car window with that relentless grin and Ten thinks that it makes him look like a skeleton. Less human, more creature.

Pryhallow isn’t a big town. It would take him 15 minutes to reach town limits and then he’ll go to the nearest outside police station and tell them that there is something wrong, there is something _terribly_ wrong with Pryhallow.

Even as Ten thinks it, he knows it will not happen. Pryhallow is a model town, a suburban dream. Who would believe him? Who would believe that the people here aren’t quite what they seem?

Ten reaches the town limits but he doesn’t leave. He can’t leave. Because the second he crosses that border he is back on the other end of town. It should be impossible, but it happens all the same. He passes the sheriff’s office, and the library, and the playground, and then he is back behind that crowd of people, his friends and neighbors, twisted into something else. He considers driving through them and pushes the scream welling on his throat back into himself, forces silence to cover his body like a shroud. Fear has a way of making statues out of all of us.

There is despair that fills Ten, the kind that he has always carried with him. It is the despair that drove Ten to move to Pryhallow in the first place, away from the dark corners and dirty streets of the city. It is the despair that he will not be able to run away this time. There is the disconcerting feeling of being a hamster on a wheel, trapped in a glass cage. He is looking outwards but he cannot escape, cannot break free.

He stops the car and opens the door and steps out, almost as if he isn’t in control of his own body. The people of Pryhallow turn to face him, a mass of smiling teeth and eyes with that almost empty gleam.

“Why would you want to leave us?” Johnny asks, voice like scales across wood. His teeth seem sharper, his eyes almost feral. “Pryhallow is your home. Our home.” Jaehyun stands beside him, head cocked, eyes blazing and teeth gleaming. His hand is intertwined with Johnny’s, and it is almost as if they are the same creature in two bodies. “We have waited a very, very long time for someone new to join us,” they say in unison.

Ten’s heart is leaping out of his chest and he is too afraid to move and too afraid to stand still so he takes a hesitant step backwards but doesn’t run.

“Who would want to leave us? In Pryhallow, everything is fine.” Doyoung’s voice is grating, skin pale and eyes shot through with red. His voice is like a violin playing all the wrong notes, and Ten lets out a hopeless wail that carries into the air. Ten presses his hands to his ears, eyes shut to block out the sight of those maddening smiles, that mob of people that are less like people and more like nightmares with skin.

“Please,” Ten begs, voice a wild thing in the air. “Let me leave. Let me leave!” His shout has no effect on the crowd. They stare at him impassively, unmoved. They are like an army of toy soldiers, all plastic and no flesh. He doesn’t know what they are, cannot fathom it, cannot think beyond his own immediate fear.

“Ten,” Kun says, stepping forward, his voice gentle. “Don’t leave us. Don’t leave me.” He extends a hand and Ten trips backward. The asphalt bites into his hands and as he looks up at Kun something inside him shatters into a million little pieces.

“Oh, Kun,” Ten sobs, voice broken. “Baby, not you too.”

There’s something else in Kun’s eyes, behind that frightening grin and Ten imagines it might be regret or fear. But then it is gone, and Ten is looking at the pale comparison of the person he used to love.

“Everything will be fine,” Kun says, voice unbearably soft and Ten closes his eyes again, unable to bear the sight of all those smiles, teeth too visible. “Everything is always fine in Pryhallow.”

Kun takes Ten’s hand and it is such a familiar feeling that Ten relaxes, just for a moment. He opens his eyes and he is surrounded, the people of Pryhallow looking down on him as if he were a specimen to be dissected. He looks at Kun and realizes his hand is cold in his.

Kun's eyes are empty. There is no life there, just a void where a person might have been before.

There’s the feeling of hands on him, pulling at his clothes and skin and there is a murmur that grows to a dull roar in Ten’s ears. It’s like singing, like music, like all the wrong notes of a song played at the exact same time.

Ten screams once. Then, silence.

The sun rises.

 

…

 

It’s a beautiful day in Pryhallow.

Ten wakes up with a start, as if he has just had a nightmare. He wants to remember something, remember something important, but it is slipping out of his memory like sand out of a broken hourglass. He struggles to remember but he details fade, and then Ten can’t even remember what was bothering him. The dream dissipates and he stretches. The sky is blue and the sun is out and Ten has a strange sense of peace. There’s discomfort, too, but it's not enough for Ten to notice.

He makes breakfast and Kun comes over. It's always nice to see Kun, especially on a nice day like this.

“How is everything?” Kun asks, smiling.

Ten smiles back, hesitantly at first, but once he figures out how it is incredibly easy. He smiles back and it is so incredibly natural he can’t imagine any other expression. He likes the smile. It's safe. 

“It’s...fine.” Ten grins and takes Kun’s hand. “Everything is fine.”

It is a beautiful day, and Ten knows that every day is a beautiful day in Pryhallow. He has found somewhere perfect, a place where nothing bad will ever happen. He has found himself a home. There is something that nags at him like a memory, but he dismisses it.

Ten looks out the window and sees a van roll up to a house down the street. It’s a moving van, and the woman that gets out from behind the wheel is a stranger. People walk in the street and Ten sees Johnny run up to greet the woman, friendly smile on his face. Ten experiences something like deja vu, as if he has seen this in some type of dream, but the feeling vanishes as soon as it appears.

He looks at Kun and grins again. “Everything is always fine in Pryhallow.”

 

…

 

There is something about Pryhallow that puts people at ease. It is a town for the lost, for the running, for those that are trying to either escape or hide. The people of Pryhallow do not like strangers but they cherish wanderers, those they know will stay.

Ask anyone: Pryhallow is a friendly town. It seems that everyone is always happy. Look, the people in the house with the yellow door are smiling. Won’t you smile back?

Welcome to Pryhallow. We hope you enjoy your stay, and we hope you stay a long, long time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [welcome to pryhallow](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5gBdDgnhpjwqb1AsjyWoea)   
>  [twt](https://twitter.com/nastaeyong)   
>  [cc](https://curiouscat.me/nastaeyong)


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